It is Khareef, or "monsoon" season, and the streets below their tiny flat are thick with red, alkaline mud. At any moment the skies are likely to open up and unleash a deluge of rain; the air all but crackles with potential energy. Someone on a motorized scooter buzzes by underneath the window and causes the hair on the back of Sherlock's neck to stand briefly at attention. The retreating bike leaves deep rivulets in the mud as it retreats, single red tail light flashing like a winking eye. Safe. The muscles between his shoulders slowly, gradually, unrope themselves.
A little thunder here.
Sherlock appraises her out of the corner of his eye. He registers that brief moment of discomfort and catalogs it, quick as a camera apeture closing.
"You should sleep," he says, returning his gaze to the street below. The bed, with its multicolored duvet, is deep and inviting. "The next few days are going to be arduous."
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It is Khareef, or "monsoon" season, and the streets below their tiny flat are thick with red, alkaline mud. At any moment the skies are likely to open up and unleash a deluge of rain; the air all but crackles with potential energy. Someone on a motorized scooter buzzes by underneath the window and causes the hair on the back of Sherlock's neck to stand briefly at attention. The retreating bike leaves deep rivulets in the mud as it retreats, single red tail light flashing like a winking eye. Safe. The muscles between his shoulders slowly, gradually, unrope themselves.
A little thunder here.
Sherlock appraises her out of the corner of his eye. He registers that brief moment of discomfort and catalogs it, quick as a camera apeture closing.
"You should sleep," he says, returning his gaze to the street below. The bed, with its multicolored duvet, is deep and inviting. "The next few days are going to be arduous."